


Alis Volat Propriis

by bexredgrave



Series: Fancylove [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fancylove ficlet, at some point there'll be some 'fancy doesn't die' aus in this series, btw alis volat propriis is a Latin motto meaning 'she flies with her own wings', but there's a bit of adorableness between them at the end, for now, hopefully they will be reoccurring characters if I write enough of these, like new police officers, more to do with Shirley herself than the relationship tbh, no these fics will avoid Icarus altogether ahem, not Icarus, set between Colours and Quartet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 09:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexredgrave/pseuds/bexredgrave
Summary: 'Her uniform is attracting a mixture of nervous glances and leering grins from passers-by as she waits on one of the benches. She takes off her hat and unpins her hair. She could have done with a bit of time to get ready, but there’s only an hour on Thursdays when both of their schedules are free.'Short Fancylove ficlet to help you all (and me) get over the sadness of the season finale.Inspired by the prompt 'Broken Wings'.





	Alis Volat Propriis

“You lost him.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Shirley says. Her eyes are fixed forwards. She is not looking at her boss, who is four inches from her cheek, snarling at her.

“We were gonna nail this purse snatcher for good!” Bradley yells. “But no – after three months of trying to trace him, we finally find his flat. We put him under careful observation. We prepare to arrest him. And then what happens? He slips away from right under our noses – or should I say your nose!”

“If I may say, sir,” Shirley says carefully, “I was only acting on my instructions.”

“Which were?”

“Observe the front of the building, sir. It’s only unfortunate that he escaped through a back window. Sir.”

Bradley raises his hand, and Shirley flinches slightly, thinking for a moment he is going to strike her – but he is only scratching his ear, and anyway he wouldn’t dare hit her, not when his inspector is sitting right there.

“I’m warning you, girl,” he growls. “I’m letting you off this once ‘cause you’re a good officer.” He says this with a grimace, like it is physically painful for him to say. “But one more misstep and it’ll be an official warning from the superintendent. Got that?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” she says. As she leaves the office, she can’t help but smile; she is imagining what Bright would say if she were sent to him for a disciplining.

She goes to one of the sergeants to make an official statement about her part in the failed Robin Waldorf arrest, and by the time the poor man has finished typing it out – using the eraser liberally – it’s time for her to clock off. She fetches her bag, saying goodbye to her constable friends, and heads to the Radcliffe Camera.

_Five o'clock._

Her uniform is attracting a mixture of nervous glances and leering grins from passers-by as she waits on one of the benches. She takes off her hat and unpins her hair. She could have done with a bit of time to get ready, but there’s only an hour on Thursdays when both of their schedules are free.

The clock tower maliciously ticks by the minutes, and Shirley finds herself drifting back to the almost-arrest. One p.m., she’d been told that was when DS Bradley and DI Johnstone were planning on going in for the kill. So to speak. She’d just taken over observation duties from Philson. At quarter-to, the curtains in Waldorf’s flat window twitched, and she saw him looking up and down the street. Barely two minutes later, he had fled with a selection of his spoils out through the back. Of course, Bradley and Johnstone didn’t know this until they’d broken down the door of Waldorf’s flat. And it was her who got the blame.

_It would’ve been different if it was Philson,_ an unpleasant voice in the back of her head keeps telling her. _Or Clarke, or McCann. It’s only because you’re a woman that they’re so hard on you._

Does she really believe that? She doesn’t think so. Bradley detests most of the constables. And he’s admitted on more than one occasion that she is a good policewoman – well, in actuality, he tended to use the word ‘competent’ instead.

_So why’s he picking on you, then? There were more officers watching the flat, not just you. They got a bit of a telling off and a try-harder-next-time. You got a right scolding. And even such a dunce as Bradley could tell it wasn’t really your fault._

Wasn’t it, though? If she’d been watching more carefully, she could have caught him, for sure. Maybe she’s slipping.

She’s still pondering this minutes later when George finally appears round the corner in a half-run, just as the clock chimes the quarter-past.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Morse was making me do some filing.”

“And that took hours?” Shirley says.

George sits next to her, keeping a bit of distance between them. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Shirley says. “Except that I just got an earful from my boss.”

George chuckles. “What did you do?”

Despite her mood, his laughter makes her laugh a bit, too. “Only let a prime suspect in a series of high-profile crimes escape arrest.”

“What, really?”

“Kind of,” Shirley says. “A robber climbed out his back window when I was meant to be observing him.”

“Oh, I know about that. It’s halfway around Cowley Road by now,” he adds apologetically.

“Fabulous,” Shirley says with a groan, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Everyone already thinks I’m a nuisance –“

“What? No, they don’t –”

“– and now I’m going to be the girlie who can’t even keep her eye on a bloody robber.”

“No one thinks that,” George says, lightly stroking a loose lock of her hair.

“Well, your lot are all right, but the rest of them don’t even want a woman in the police force at all. They’re looking for reasons to get rid of me, I bet.”

“No, I think they’ll be glad to have you,” George says. “What with the merger; people are applying for transfers left, right, and centre.”

Shirley smiles. “Are you?”

“Nah, I’m staying around for a while yet,” George says with a grin. Then he swallows. “Are you?”

Shirley doesn’t answer, though she can feel George tensing up beside her. She stares around the square. At the people giving her odd, judging glances. At the young man eyeing her up in one corner, and at the old man doing the same in another. She thinks about the criminal who she ostensibly let get away earlier today. And about all the other criminals she will almost certainly catch. She thinks about the boys at Cowley Road. About Morse, who respects her. About Strange, who protects her. About Thursday, who looks after her. About Bright, who believes in her.

And about the young man next to her.

She turns to George and smiles.

“No,” she says. “I think, for now, I’m all right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I was going to post this on International Women's Day, but I didn't finish it in time. Then I was inspired to finish it at midnight the night the finale aired... for clear reasons.  
> #JusticeForGeorge  
> Hope you enjoyed!


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